


A Friendly Finger Fuller Than Normal

by Mozzarella



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Cockslut!Ford, Fisting, M/M, Masturbation, Self-Fisting, Sex Toys, Sibling Incest, Stancest - Freeform, Twincest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-11 21:44:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4453514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mozzarella/pseuds/Mozzarella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Ford and his six fingered hands have many adventures over the years. And as with any adventure, he's got his brother to back him up (almost) all the way. </p><p>(Or an excuse to write gratuitous filth for a very good friend who wanted a fic involving slutty Ford, six fingered fisting, and bad dragon toys. Underage tag is for teen experimentation in the first chapter, but doesn't apply to the rest. Read the warnings!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I HAVEN'T WRITTEN PWP OR GRATUITOUS PORN FOR THREE YEARS  
> THREE  
> YEARS

It was _for science,_ he rationalized when he started out. That was why they called it _experimenting,_ wasn't it? Right? Right? 

 

Alright, so maybe science wasn't what people had in mind when they were experimenting with their sexuality, but Stanford Pines had always been a curious sort, always open to try new things to sate that curiosity.

 

Unfortunately, unlike the other new things in his life he wanted to experience, this was something he couldn't ask his brother to help him with like usual.

 

Jacking off was something that most boys his age did, something most were open about, about as mundane as the girly mags they brought around to school to look at a woman's breasts.

 

Ford always took things further, even if sometimes, that wasn't the wisest course of action.

 

But a few unconventional magazines later, Ford found himself looking for more and more excuses to stay at home and find time for himself while Stan was out, something difficult to achieve when you shared everything, including a room, with your twin brother.

 

But when he  _did_ find time for himself, Ford went whole hog, and found out after some experimentation that he liked—he  _really_ liked to fill himself up. 

 

He started out with fingers, using lube he'd been given by the kindly if thickly-painted woman a few doors and two floors down. From tips taken from her and the magazines he'd found, he sought out his prostate the way they described would bring him the most pleasure.

 

The first touch had been a mess of sticky sweet lube and a full body jolt, and Ford found himself rubbing the same spot over and over, experimenting with the sensations and adding two, then three more fingers, feeling his hole tight but loosening, fucked wet and wide by his own hand.

 

He stretched himself even wider, delirious and hot as he kept adding fingers until he realized he had a full five in, his thumb anchoring from the outside while the rest delved in deeper and he whined, crying out in utter pleasure.

 

With his other hand he played with his nipples, teasing them into hardness, forgetting any doubt he had as all his senses were overwhelmed by the sheer deliciousness of it all.

 

And then he heard knuckles rapping against the locked door.

 

“Hey Stanford, what's going on? Did you forget I was coming home or something? Open up!” 

 

Ford restrained himself from crying out, stumbling over himself in an attempt to get his pyjama bottoms back on, wiping his hands on the sheets and shoving the lube under his pillow. He straightened up, sniffing himself to ensure he didn't smell of guilt and checking himself in the mirror to make sure he didn't look like exactly what he'd been doing, and opened the door.

 

“Whoa hey, what were you doing in the dark here? Trying to test if you can see with the lights off again?” Stan teased, sauntering into the room stopping in front of his own bed, shucking his shirt off. 

 

Ford chuckled uneasily, hoping beyond hope his brother wouldn't connect the dots, when Stan suddenly bent over, picking something up off the floor.

 

“Wohoa, what's this?” 

 

Stanford froze, watching as his brother picked up one of his magazines, which in his haste, he'd accidentally kicked to the floor.

 

It was the raciest of them, too, the one that showed all the ways one could pleasure oneself either alone or with a partner, with the most creative uses of fingers, hands, and even mouths, that Ford had ever seen.

 

And now his brother was rifling through it, half-dressed, and Stanford felt the entire world shatter even as he felt warm inside and out from the memory of images he knew Stanley was seeing right now.

 

“Didn't figure you for the type, Sixer,” Stanley said, whistling. “And here I thought you were a total prude. I guess it's the complete opposite, huh?” 

 

“Stanley, please,” Ford begged weakly. 

 

“Please what, Ford?” Stan asked, his smirk visible even in the dimly lit room. 

 

“Please don't tell anybody, Stan, please, don't, I—they won't—I don't think I could handle it if they—Stan, please.”

 

Stan's smirk fell, and his entire expression softened when he took in the desperation on his twin's face.

 

“Hey, hey,” he said gently, coming over to gently hug his brother, letting Ford's chin rest on his shoulder—his  _ bare _ shoulder, Ford noted, his arms automatically going around his brother's  _ bare  _ back, his naked upper body pressing against Ford's own, warm and solid yet soft and yielding even through the thin layer of clothing he had on. “You don't have to worry, Ford. We're twins, remember? I won't let anybody hurt you, and I won't start blabbing about your secrets if you want me to keep 'em secret. Alright? I'm just teasing, okay? It's what we do, right? Don't take it too seriously.” 

 

Ford relaxed, mentally berating himself for even worrying. Of course Stanley wouldn't tell anybody. He could trust Stan. There was nobody else he could trust more in the world than the one he'd come into the world with. 

 

“So, uh... haha, so you mind telling me which one of these things you were trying before I barged in?” Stanley said with deliberate casualness, raising the magazine as Ford dropped his arms, eyes a little wide at the question. 

 

“That is, well...” 

 

“No, no, better yet,” Stan said suddenly, his smile widening slowly as he crossed the room to lock the door. “Mind showing me?” 

 


	2. The Clubroom scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford's college years, and Backupsmore's proximity to an underground sex club

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have failed! This isn't as dirty as I'd hoped, because it felt kind of clinical to do it without Stan. So yeah, some Ford/OC in this one, mostly just sex. 
> 
> Time skip here. Next chapter's a time skip too, quite possibly post portal :D I need my filth to have soul and angst.

“God. Oh, Stanley, just... right there.” 

 

Ford pressed his cheek against the pillow, desperately trying to get a few breaths in as five fingers stretched his hole and he slowly but surely tucked in a sixth, drenched enough in lube that his whole hand slid right in after the knuckles and he had to resist the urge to scream.

 

“Stanley, oh Stanley, please, please let me...” 

 

He twisted his fist, whining at the sensation of his knuckles scraping against the most sensitive part of him, counting each bump as he turned.

 

He was wet, so wet, wired and numb all at once, clenching and unclenching his fist and feeling every movement down to the veins popping up over the back of his hand from holding one position for too long. He knew that his roommate wasn't planning on coming back tonight, too busy partying or what have you, too uninterested in whatever  _ study plans  _ he assumed Ford had in place of actually enjoying college and having fun. 

 

He was having fun, alright, but not the kind of fun the mundane sharer of his personal space was thinking.

 

Ford had never been far from the strange and the unconventional, not even at one of the most conventional college on that side of the country. It was an accident, if an entirely happy one, that led him to meeting some interesting people from the underground scene, his love of sci-fi comics the gateway to much more than just the geeky club room scene.

 

One of his fellow 'enthusiasts' kept looking at his hands, something that irked Ford to no end, until the one day Ford heard him muttering under his breath about  _ how many would fit  _ as he flipped through a comic, pretending he wasn't glancing at Ford's fingers every so often, piquing his curiosity. 

 

“How many what?” Ford questioned, startling the other guy enough for him to bump hard against the snack table, causing him to drop what he'd been reading, something else sliding out before he had the chance to recover. And there, tucked into a commonplace copy of Weird Tales, was a black and white paper copy with images that were both familiar and entirely new to Ford, something he never thought he'd see outside his bedroom. 

 

“What—”

 

“Um, I, uh, I gotta go, uh—”

 

“Ty, are you alright?” one of their other clubmates asked, tilting his head questioningly at Ford, who waved away his concerns in what he hoped was a casual gesture. 

 

“Sorry, let me get that,” Ford offered, deliberately taking the black and white comic before Ty could. “Where'd you, uh, get this?” he asked, trying not to spook the other boy. He remembered what it felt like to be caught, and knew Ty was terrified enough that he ought to take it slow. 

 

Ty wasn't exactly offering any answers, and his eyes kept darting back and forth between Ford's face and the comic in his hands.

 

It was a surreal, illustrated version of images Ford had seen in his experimental days, exaggerated but artistic in their own way, racy as ever but bolder somehow, stark in the black and white it was printed. Ford flipped through one page after another, the content becoming increasingly inappropriate.

 

“I got them from some friends. I, uh, they're not... I mean it's more of a word of mouth thing, it's not the sort of comic I just advertise, you know? It's not... not for everyone,” Ty said, tripping over words as he waited for what he probably believed was inevitable mockery, or worse. 

 

“Can you... maybe ask your  _ friends _ where I can get one of these?” Ford questioned carefully, and Ty looked surprised, his entire body relaxing automatically even when his face showed apprehension.

 

“I—sure. I mean, yeah! I mean, why not?” Ty ran a hand through his black hair almost endearingly, brightening at the request. “I didn't, uh...” 

 

“Figure me for the type?” Ford guessed, smiling a little. 

 

Ty grinned. “No, it's not that. I just didn't think this kind of thing happened in real life.”

 

“What kind of thing?” 

 

Ty's grin faltered.

 

“Uh, that... that somebody with... I mean that somebody I've been... would actually be interested in this stuff,” he tried and failed to explain. 

 

“How many what?” Ford said suddenly. 

 

“What?” 

 

“A while ago, you said  _ how many would fit _ . How many what?” Ford pressed, his mind racing with the idea that maybe, just maybe, somebody was looking at his hands for reasons beyond the novelty. 

 

Ty's blush told him everything, even as he said, “How many fingers?” in a whispered confession.

 

* * *

 

 

Missing his brother was probably Ford's greatest and most terrifying secret, in more ways than one, and the way he dealt with it was part of the package of secrecy—although maybe not as well guarded as he first anticipated.

 

The same happy accident that had led to his less-than-brotherly relationship with Stan somehow led Ford to Ty, who in turn led him to the kind of scene he'd only ever seen in his magazines.

 

Apparently, Backupsmore was only a short drive away from an underground sex club. Who knew?

 

Of course he had his apprehensions. After all, there were few people in the area with six fingers on each hand, and even covering his face wouldn't help if somebody somehow recognized him coming and going from the club.

 

Fortunately Ty had thought of a way around that, gifting him with a set of three finger gloves he sometimes used to dress up as certain comic book characters. When they came around the first time, in the interest of privacy, Ford had to give his own nickname before he could join in the 'proceedings'.

 

It wasn't long before “Sixer” got extremely popular with the doms and the switches as the guy whose cute little ass was hungry for attention.

 

Ty was the only one who knew who he really was, and while he acted the shy, unsociable, comic-loving geek at school, he was nothing but sure and confident when he had Ford's ass raised high, sloppily making out with his hole as if it were a second mouth.

 

It made Ford almost shy to be around him in any other setting, especially this one particular day he'd spilled some sauce on his hands when they were meeting up in the clubroom and Ty thought it was a good idea to suck his fingers clean (subtly, of course, but it still didn't change the fact that they were in a room full of people).

 

Fortunately, it didn't seem like Ty was going for a relationship, something that Ford had been wary of. He had time for the odd dalliance, of course, but having a... boyfriend? That was another matter entirely.

 

Ty seemed to pick up on that, as well as something else Ford didn't know he'd been broadcasting.

 

“Old flame still burning?” he'd asked once.

 

“What?”

 

“You have the look of a broken heart pining for somebody far away,” Ty said wisely, shrugging.

 

“I... no, it's uh.” Ford scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

 

“I'm thinking somebody you left behind when you came to study here?” Ty continued.

 

“Somebody I left behind?” Ford repeated. “I... I guess so.”

 

He certainly did that, and much, much worse.

 

It was funny how some of the people in the club could be so attentive when it came to others. Ford never thought he'd get some good, emotionally-satisfying advice from somebody who was stretching his ass around the lubed-up knuckles of his hand, but he was learning a lot of new things in college these days.

 

“So you got somebody you miss, huh?” Asked Oliver (which may or may not have been his real name, nobody was ever sure in this place).

 

“I used to have somebody,” Ford said, punctuating the end with a deep, long sigh, and then a gasp as he felt Oliver swipe his thumb against his prostate from within.

 

“Hmm, bad breakup?”

 

“Something—ah—something like that.”

 

“Far be it from my place to tell you to try and reconnect with somebody you might not want to, but if you're still missing them after all this time, it might not be such a bad idea.”

 

Ford said nothing, until Oliver offered something else.

 

“You, uh, wanna role play? Might help get your mind off the guy. Or on it, I dunno.”

 

Ford wasn't sure at first, but that didn't stop him from screaming Stan's name when Oliver plowed into him, nipping at his neck almost just like the way his brother had done so long ago.

 

That night was spent staring at one of the post cards Stan had sent him, contact details written in the margins on the back with an exaggerated DOIN' GREAT taking up most of the blank space.

 

That was the closest he'd ever come to calling Stan in years.

 


End file.
